Boarding School
by fufulupin
Summary: MaureenJoanne in a teenage boarding school senario. Rating probably varies between T and M, depending.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Still and always belonging to Jon.

A/N: This is--flinches and takes a deep breath to steady self--the first chapter to what will hopefully have a few. Hopefully. It's been awhile since I've tried a chapter fic (the last one I did hit chapter 30 or so and then I couldn't write anymore. I swear that there are still Phantom of the Opera fans out for my blood on that one.), but the idea hit me and I think—_think_—I should be able to do well with it. And, if writer's block hits again, I suppose I could always ask y'all for ideas, eh? grin

**Nov. 18th**

Joanne Jefferson was going to be sick.

She could handle a lot, she knew. She _had _to, to spend so much time with her admittedly-uptight parents and their friends. But _this _was too much.

"A _boarding school_?" she hissed to herself. "A fucking _boarding school_?"

Sure, her last school hadn't been as ideal as her parents had first expected. Private thought it had been—of course; her mother would pass out if Joanne even mentioned the words "public school"—the place had been full to the brim with what her mother called "unseemly types" In other words, partiers, alcohol fiends, and surprising number of pyromaniacs.

Joanne wondered what her mother's reaction would be if she knew Joanne herself owned a Zippo lighter. It only took a moment of thought for her to realize she didn't want to know.

"I don't understand their obsession," Joanne muttered, speaking once again to herself. She was alone, slumped at the rear of the long bus, a backpack resting on her lap for warmth as the November wind whipped through the jammed-open window. The ride had lasted three and a half hours thus far, and she was going slightly crazy with mixed boredom and anger. Over the past four years—her entire high school career, as it was-she'd switched schools nine times, all due to her mother's fanatical wish that her only daughter not be subjected to "UTs."

Out of all those changeovers, this was the first boarding school. Joanne supposed she should feel lucky that it took this long for her mother to wear down her father on the issue enough to actually boot the seventeen-year-old from the house.

The bus driver suddenly turned his head. Joanne frowned, pulling herself from her thoughts and focusing on him. This was the first time since she'd boarded the vehicle that the old man had bothered to even look her way.

He called something in his hoarse voice, but she didn't catch it. Leaning forward and wondering if she should have chosen a seat closer to the front of the bus, she replied, "What was that?"

His wrinkled face scrunching up with effort, he bellowed, "Almost there!"

"Oh. Thanks." _Awkward_, she thought. _Should I try to continue this conversation? _The old guy couldn't be any happier about making this trip than she was. Before she could think of something especially simulating to say, however, he had swiveled back around and fixed his doubtlessly-failing eyes back on the road.

Her only chance at conversation lost, Joanne sighed and leaned back again.

_This is going to be a long year…_

"Here we are!"

This woman was far too happy. That was the first thing Joanne noticed. Short and stocky, with hair that was—of all colors—_green_, she hadn't stopped smiling since taking Joanne from the bus. If she had to copy the expression for much longer, Joanne thought her face might split apart.

"Um, Ms.—"

"Dolores!" the woman interrupted her cheerily. "Call me Dolores, dear!"

That was another thing. She seemed to speak only in exclamatory statements. Joanne wanted to beat her head against a wall.

"Right," she said finally, bracing herself against that smile. "I was just curious about my stuff—"

"Already in there!" Beaming, Dolores rapped her knuckles on the door they had stopped at. "All you've got to worry about now is your—"

The door swung open. A pair of sleepy green eyes peered out from beneath curls so voluminous, Joanne instinctively thought it was a wig. Dolores clapped her hands together brightly and one of the eyes winked close in an unmistakable wince.

"Yeah?" the girl asked dully, leaning her weight heavily against the doorframe as if too tired to stand on her own.

"Maureen!" Dolores shrilled, reaching out and jostling the girl's shoulder in what Joanne took to be a far-too-familiar fashion. The girl flinched again and raised a hand to her forehead.

"Yeah?" she repeated tonelessly. Nervous, Joanne shifted behind Dolores as best she could; the girl's eyes tracked her progress for only a few seconds before returning her glare to this offending creature before her.

"I'd like you to meet your new roommate!" Dolores announced to the world, apparently oblivious to the death glare she was on the receiving end of. Reaching around to grasp Joanne's shoulders, she shoved the darker girl forward. _Like a sacrifice_, Joanne found herself thinking wildly, _to some kind of tiger goddess._

_ Please don't eat me._

The girl looked her "offering" over, her eyes clearing a bit. "Roommate?" she repeated, a tiny smirk pulling at the left corner of her lips. "Huh."

_"Huh"? That's it? Does that mean I pass inspection and get to keep all my limbs?_

Either way, Dolores didn't seem to care. With one more bright smile and a "Take care of yourself, honey!" (which, Joanne noted, could have been aimed at either girl), she turned and flounced away.

Joanne had the strangest urge to run after her, screaming, "Take me with you!"

Instead, she turned and, with an intense sense of foreboding, looked at the girl known as "Maureen".

The young woman was still leaning against the door, looking her up and down as if her initial assessment hadn't been enough. Feeling rather like a piece of meat—_or cannon fodder_—Joanne tried to smile.

"Hi," she began. "I'm Jo—"

Before she could finish, a hand shot out and grabbed her by the collar of her button-down, hauling her forcefully into the room and slamming the door behind her. Dazed, Joanne staggered against a tall tree-shaped lamp.

"Sorry," Maureen muttered, sounding anything but.

Joanne felt her nerves shatter somewhat as she watched the other girl turn away and rifle through the trunk at the foot of the bed on the left. This _is what I'll be living with for almost eight months? _

Unwilling to try speech again, Joanne assumed the bed on the right half of the room—the bare one with all the suitcases strewn across it—was her own, and went to it. She immediately busied her hands with unpacking pairs of pressed jeans and slacks, clean undergarments, and shirts, praying that when she turned around, her roommate would be someone new—someone considerably less frightening.

"Hey."

_Damn. Same voice. _Joanne glanced over her shoulder to be certain; sure enough, there was Maureen, perched almost tipsily on the lid of Joanne's trunk.

"What'd you say your name was?" Maureen asked, looking like she almost cared. Trying not to frown—she'd been told in the past she was too serious-looking—Joanne told her, watching as the girl nodded to herself, then winced again and probed her skull with splayed fingers.

"Got a headache?" Joanne asked after a second, hoping the question would sound polite and not intrusive. Maureen made a grunting noise.

"Hangover," she replied, without any apparent qualms about it. Joanne shrank back from her slightly. _Mom's going to be thrilled. _

_ Not that I'll be writing to _her _anytime soon…_

She realized Maureen had picked up one of her traveling bags and was peering curiously inside. "I don't suppose you've got any aspirin in here."

"Little blue bag," Joanne answered, pointing at her First-Aid kit. Maureen's eyes lit up; swiping for it, she headed off toward a doorway Joanne hadn't noticed before—the bathroom, she assumed.

A moment later, the girl reappeared, running a hand across the back of her neck. She tossed the medical kit back onto the bed and flopped down beside it, fixing a stare on Joanne, who tried to ignore her.

"Where're you from?" Maureen finally demanded, when her eyeballs failed to capture her new roommate's attention. Joanne shot her an uneasy glance, wondering exactly how much danger she'd be in of getting stalked by this girl if she gave such information out. Finally, she gave in, half-afraid Maureen would jump and sit on her if she didn't.

"New York," she replied tightly. Maureen brightened even further.

"Me too!" she cried happily. Joanne sighed. _The chance of stalkage just increased._

"Got any siblings?" Maureen went on, not noticing Joanne's tight demeanor. The newer girl shook her head and Maureen flashed a grin. "Me either. Can't imagine it, can you? Having to share your life with some little cretin? Hell, it was bad enough having to give shit to Mark and Roger growing up."

"Who?"

Maureen waved a dismissive hand. "Just some guys I grew up with."

"Are they here too?" Joanne looked around as if expecting two boys to come tumbling out of the closet. Maureen laughed.

"No, silly. This is an all-girl's school."

"Oh." Joanne shrugged. "My mother didn't tell me that."

"Ahh…" Eyes glowing, Maureen shifted to a sitting position. "So you're one of _those_."

Joanne lifted an eyebrow, dropping a stack of folded shirts into her open trunk. "One of what, exactly?" she asked testily.

Maureen continued to grin that infuriating grin. "One of the kids who don't ask questions when Mommy and Daddy finally get annoyed and ship them off."

Joanne ground her teeth together. "That's _not _what happ—"

"Sure." Still smiling, Maureen shook her head. Joanne scowled at the sheer arrogance coating that voice. _Is she over her hangover already, or is she always this ridiculously-frustrating?_

"And how would _you _know?" she snapped, surprising herself. Maureen, to her credit, didn't jump at all. She only got up from the bed and walked slowly toward her roommate, offering her what she apparently thought was a friendly little punch on the shoulder. Wincing, Joanne rubbed the spot where she'd been hit. She watched Maureen's back as the other girl disappeared through their room's door, curious. Was this girl going to just leave her to fend for her—

The head poked back into the room, eyebrows raised expectantly. "Well? Do you want the tour or not?"

As the only other alternative appeared to be to gape after the curly-haired menace that she'd so randomly been paired with, Joanne mutely allowed her legs to carry her after Maureen's retreating form.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: Nope. Sorry, I'm still not Jon Larson reincarnated. It's all right to be horribly disappointed; I know I am.

**Nov. 24th**

"Joanne. Come here."

She grimaced at the words—no, the _demand_—and looked over the top of her book at Maureen. The wild-haired young woman was lying on her bed, dressed in a tank top and flannel pants, watching her with a nerve-wracking intensity. Joanne shook her head.

"I'm reading," she replied unnecessarily, shaking her book at her roommate. Maureen grinned.

"I can see that," she replied slowly, as if speaking to a four-year-old. "Come here."

Rolling her eyes, Joanne set the novel on her desk and frowned at the other girl. "I can't. I need to finish this report by Monday."

Maureen sat up, hands on her knees. "Joanne, you've been here, what? Six days? How many hours of sleep have you allowed yourself to get since then?"

The often-infuriating young woman had a point, Joanne found herself admitting grudgingly. Over the course of her short stay at Pennybrook Academy for Girls (and, good God, was that a pitiful excuse for a name; Joanne hoped she'd never be so shamed as to have to tell someone where she went to school), she had found herself more and more attached to the idea of such freedom. For the first time in her life, her mother was not peering over her shoulder, demanding constantly to know what she was reading, why she was writing, who that photograph was of. For the first time, the only people who prodded her into working were the professors, and she found she didn't mind. Work had always come easily to Joanne; she'd never been a creative child, per se, as much as a diligent one. The idea that working hard here would keep her out from under her mother's piercing gaze was an oddly appealing one.

_Boarding schools really aren't as bad as I'd thought. Who knew?_

"Joanne." Maureen's voice had a grating tone to it, one that somehow made Joanne feel warm inside. The concept of being soothed by such a harsh persona confused her, but she was too exhausted from a week of non-stop writing and research to fight it. Sighing loudly enough to prove to Maureen that she was not giving in quietly, she unfolded herself from the chair and padded over to her own bed, flopping down onto it. Maureen chuckled,

"You missed."

"Sorry?" Shifting slightly, Joanne peered awkwardly at her roommate from a nearly-upside-down position.

Maureen patted the mattress next to herself. "Over here, honey. If I wanted you to go to sleep, I would have said so."

Something strange did a flip in the center of Joanne's chest. She rolled over and stared again at the girl who was not-so-gently insinuating herself into Joanne's everyday existence. Maureen had barely left her alone since the previous Sunday, insisting upon sitting with her at all meals and in their classes. It seemed Joanne could barely go into the bathroom without finding Maureen there, perched on a sink, waiting for her. At first, she'd wondered why the girl bothered; was she really that interested in showing Joanne the ropes? When it became apparent that there was more to the nearly puppy-like fascination Maureen had with her—_sort of a like a dog with a bone, actually_, Joanne had found herself thinking uncomfortably on more than one occasion—she wondered if the other girl had any friends. This question was answered quickly enough; it seemed that Maureen was not only tolerated around the school, but extremely well-respected. This, of course led back to the initial question:

_Why is she bothering?_

It wasn't that Joanne thought of herself as unworthy of friendship, exactly. She had had plenty of schoolmates over the years with whom she had laughed and chatted. It was simply a matter of curiosity over Maureen's intents. While it was possible that the other girl only wanted to establish a sense of comfort with the person she'd be living with for a year, Joanne couldn't seem to shake the feeling that there was something else lurking below the surface—a deeper agenda.

_Or is it just that you _want _there to be a deeper agenda? _

She shook off the question, just as she'd been doing for three days. Something was wrong. Where Maureen had initially been frightening—terrifying, if Joanne were to be honest with herself—and off-putting, she had become intriguing and—even more scarily—attractive. It hadn't taken long for Joanne to notice the long lashes that framed warmly-caustic green eyes, or the straight white teeth behind full lips. The curves, the hair, the shockingly-infectious laughter—none of it was lost on her. The entire package that was Maureen was of an unwitting beauty.

And therein lay the problem.

Joanne had developed crushes on girls before. It wasn't anything new for her to find her thoughts dwelling a little too firmly on someone of the same sex. In fact, the shocking thing would be to find a male tramping through her mind constantly. No, the generality of the situation wasn't the issue.

The problem was that this was _Maureen. _She couldn't explain it, but Joanne got the image that this was the epitome of untouchable things here, if only because Maureen was the type to get as close as was humanly possible to someone else. It was difficult enough to deal with unrequited feelings when one was not forced into close proximity with the object of one's affections; the last thing Joanne needed was to cultivate strong feelings for the one person who seemed intent on fastening herself to Joanne's very waist.

_Not that I'd mind…_

_ Shit. Stop that._

"Joanne, did you hear me, or do I need to fetch the air horn?" Maureen was still watching her with her trademark see-right-through-you smile. Joanne jerked a little; she'd almost forgotten where she was.

"I heard you," she half-lied, rolling over to look at the other girl properly; she'd been getting dizzy, watching the mouth dance _over _the eyes as opposed to under them.

"Then why aren't you moving?" was the simplistic response. Joanne opened and closed her mouth several times and Maureen giggled. "You look like a fish when you do that," she added, eyes sparkling. "It's cute."

_Cute. Ohh, don't say that. _

"Why do you need me over there anyway?" Joanne asked in as annoyed a tone she could manage. "You said it yourself: I don't sleep. Wouldn't it be best for me to curl up here?"

Maureen shrugged. "Probably. But call it a favor, will you? I want to talk to you."

"And you can't do that from a separate bed?"

"Fuck, girl, are you always this stubborn?" Despite the vulgar word, Maureen sounded anything but angry. "I'm not asking you to do something illegal, I just want you to sit with me for a minute or two. Sheesh."

Making a show of rolling her eyes, Joanne rolled from her bed and dragged herself to Maureen's. Perching on the edge of the mattress, she told herself that giving in was the only option, that Maureen would never give up until she got her way. She told herself that this was the only way she'd ever get to sleep tonight, and that she wasn't sitting here, next to her mildly-obnoxious roommate—and possible friend?—simply for the minimized space between them.

"See, now, that wasn't so hard." Leave it to Maureen to keep dragging a dead horse through the dust. Part of Joanne wanted to get indignant; she was _here_, wasn't she? She'd given in. Why couldn't Maureen just get what she had to say over with? Did she really have to keep on with it, practically gloating and—

_Oh. _

_ This is interesting._

Maureen had reached over, captured her arm, and tugged her back into a light embrace. Wrapping an arm around the smaller girl's middle, she rested her chin on Joanne's shoulder.

"W-what are you doing?" Joanne asked, hating the tremor in her voice. She felt Maureen chin raise off her shoulder for a beat, then fall back down as she shrugged.

"Getting comfortable," she answered, forcing Joanne gently to lean back against her. "Now. We talk."

"We do?" Joanne was having trouble thinking straight. Maureen seemed to be wearing perfume of some kind—_God, I hope that's perfume and not how she smells on her own. If this is Maureen-scent, I don't know how I'll ever be able to control myself._—and it was making her head feel heavier than it ever had before.

"Yep." Maureen lightly bumped her head against the side of Joanne's. An errant curl tickled her ear; Joanne resisted a shiver.

_This is not a good way to start a friendship_, she reminded herself, gritting her teeth. _Six days, and this girl's already making me melt. She's going to kick me out in no time._

"What are we talking about?" she asked, forcing the words out between her teeth to distract herself from the thoughts bouncing through her head.

For a moment, Maureen said nothing. Slightly dumbfounded by this sudden change—Joanne couldn't remember a period of time since meeting Maureen when the young woman hadn't had words pouring from her lips; she even talked in her sleep, for God's sake—Joanne twisted to look up at her. The other girl wasn't even looking at her, she realized; both eyes were focused distractedly on the opposite wall. Nervously, Joanne pulled one of her arms free from the trap of Maureen's embrace and waved her hand.

"Hello?"

That was all it took. Maureen gave a tiny bounce on the bed and squeezed Joanne a little tighter, grinning when the other girl coughed in an attempt to let air into her squished lungs.

"What do you want to talk about?" she asked, nudging her head against Joanne's again. If she didn't cut that out, the darker girl was going to be forced to rip away, if only to salvage some self-control.

"I don't," Joanne was tempted to say. Instead, she mumbled, "I dunno. Boys?"

In truth, that was the very last thing she wanted to talk about—the very last thing she _ever _wanted to talk about. But Maureen struck her as the type of girl who would get a great deal of pleasure from raving about the latest "hot" boy-toy teen star. Might as well let her have her moment in all of its torturous glory.

But, to her surprise, Maureen gave a brash, cackling laugh and rocked her roughly from side to side. "Boys?" she repeated through a giggle. "Sweetheart, I _know_ you've got some better potential topics stored in that head of yours. You're too smart to want to just gush about the male species."

Joanne lifted an eyebrow. _Okay, that's another thing that has got to stop. These terms of endearment are going to flat-out kill me. _

"All right," she said carefully after another beat. "How about…books?"

Maureen made a face, but Joanne could tell her roommate was pleased with this intellectual choice. It seemed the girl had placed her into a category of expectation—granted, an accurate one—and fully anticipated Joanne to do as she figured. Normally, this would have reminded Joanne of every other person she'd ever met, and she would have immediately retracted. With Maureen, however, it seemed only as if the young woman had read her perfectly.

"I don't really read much," Maureen was saying flippantly, waving a hand dangerously close to Joanne's head. "But talk away, babe. Maybe something'll peak my interest for once."

Joanne smirked, untangling herself a smidgen from the other girl's arms and stretching out. _Might as well get comfortable. This could take a while. _

She took a breath and launched into what most people would probably label a well-constructed babble, touching on topics ranging from Poe to Orwell to Huxley to Emerson. To her surprise, Maureen did not fall asleep, though she did not actually know any of the poems or novels Joanne mentioned. When the slight girl finally paused in her literary rant, she found Maureen had paid enough attention to actually make some comments—"If strength really did stem from ignorance, wouldn't that make me brilliant?" she joked, rolling her eyes when Joanne stammered out a protest on behalf of Maureen's own intelligence.

"Forget it," Maureen commanded finally, reaching out and placing a hand firmly over Joanne's mouth to cut off her insistence that Maureen really _was _quite bright and only refused to apply herself. "Lordy, woman, you need to learn to take a joke."

Frozen, Joanne could only stare over the pale hand. _Her hand is on my lips, _she thought frantically, resisting simultaneous urges to lunge forward and back.

Oblivious, Maureen went on. "I swear to you, girl, that by the time you've been here a month, I will have corrupted you—at least enough for you to say truthfully that you are capable of fun."

Indignant, Joanne tried to sputter, "I do too have fun!", but the syllables were mussed by the soft palm still pressed to her lips. Pulling her hand free and shaking it to relieve the tickling sensation Joanne's breath had caused, Maureen shook her head and smiled.

"You do not," she replied smugly. "It's obvious, if only from the way I had to practically handcuff and drag you over here tonight. But don't worry about it. I'm going to make you a deal."

"A deal?" Joanne repeated suspiciously, sitting on her hands so as not to brush her fingers against her own mouth. "What kind of deal?"

"The kind where I offer to read one of your precious books a month if _you _allow me to yank you out of the cage you've stuffed yourself into for the past seventeen years." Maureen's eyes glittered at her; she pushed a hand forward and let it hang in the air, waiting.

Joanne bit her lip. Let Maureen pull her out of her shell? Make her "fun"? Nothing could be more dangerous, she sensed. Was making her wild roommate a little more literate really worth that kind of torture?

_Hell no._

_ But what choice do I really have?_

Shaking her head uncertainly, Joanne clasped the strong white hand in her own and shook it. Maureen's grin, if possible, broadened and Joanne sighed.

"Why do I get the feeling I'm selling my soul to the devil?" she muttered.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: Still and always belonging to Jon.

A/N: It may sound a bit repetitive at first, when set beside the last chapter. However, I tried everything I could, and trust me, it sounded utterly unbearable without what's here now. Bear with me on that front for now; I'll try not to write chapters out of order again. wry grin

Also, I'm introducing another canon character. I can't help it; I love him to death, and I don't generally get the opportunity to write him in.

**Dec. 13th**

"Damn it, Maureen, _slow the hell down_."

Huffing like the track star she'd never been, Joanne grabbed her roommate by the back of her shirt. Maureen shot a grin over her shoulder.

"Finally, she catches up," the senior teased, reaching an arm around to loop over Joanne's thin shoulders. "I was beginning to think you fell down a flight of stairs or a well or something."

"Funny," Joanne wheezed, leaning into her friend as she struggled for air. "What exactly possessed you to go booking out of class like that, anyway? Did you spot a flying pancake?"

Maureen sent a very odd, though quite amused, look her way. "We need to keep you out of the sun," she remarked, giving Joanne's shoulders a friendly shake. "And, to answer your extremely-bizarre question, there were no airborne breakfast foods. I just remembered I had to do something, is all. You actually don't have to come with, if you'd rather sate your obvious appetite for circular foodstuffs."

Joanne shook her head. Since coming to the Academy, barely an hour had gone by when the girls were separate. Strange, since Joanne had spent her first day thinking of all the possible ways to hide from her roommate. She'd never expected to grow close to the other girl, brash and headstrong as Maureen tended to be.

Maureen, though, had turned out to be more than a hung-over, mildly-rude young woman. Over the first week of their tentative acquaintanceship, she'd revealed herself to be funny and surprisingly-intelligent, though hopelessly-lazy. And, most importantly, she had taken a deep interest in Joanne herself; not just in aiding her about the school and the classes that they shared (conveniently, all of them), but in Joanne's personality. Despite the vast differences between them, neither girl could help being drawn to the other.

Although it had taken Joanne the entirety of that first week to stop questioning the other girl's motives, she had learned to trust in Maureen, and vice versa. Even the threat of Maureen's "deal"—her desire to pull Joanne from her safe, warm nest in exchange for the promise of actually reading books—couldn't put a damper on the comfort she was drawing daily from the decidedly-bohemian teen.

True, there were boundaries to their relationship. Joanne had learned early on never to ask about Maureen's mother, ever since the other girl had expressed a violent dislike for the woman. Maureen never questioned about Joanne's disinterest in men, though Joanne was certain her friend had guessed the reasoning for the way Joanne constantly ignored Maureen's gushy babblings about the male species (for, since that first night of conversation, Maureen had proved Joanne's initial assessment of her to be quite on the money in that respect), waving off every word with a roll of her eyes. That was just the way of it, and neither girl minded. Joanne was mildly uneasy with the concept of lunging too quickly into what was becoming the strongest friendship she'd ever had; for her part, Maureen seemed in no hurry to do much of anything. For being so insane and spontaneous, she could be the most laid-back person Joanne knew.

_A walking contradiction_, she often found herself thinking of Maureen fondly. Never the same person twice, the curly-haired lunatic seemed to exist solely to keep everyone she met on their toes at all times. She was, in all respects, the direct opposite of Joanne.

Joanne who, strangely, couldn't get enough of her.

As the two walked along in relative silence (though Maureen would every once in a while say something like, "God, I hate homework," or "Break's in a few days, aren't you excited?" just to have something to say), Joanne found herself focusing almost uncomfortably on the arm pinned around her shoulders. This had been happening more and more often over the past month: Maureen would grab her hand playfully or poke her gently in the nose just for the hell of it, and Joanne would feel the oddest tingle begin in her stomach. At first, she'd tried to fight off the eruption of "butterflies playing Laser Tag", but that had proved futile. Now, she was content to recognize the crush for what it was from a distance, hoping it wouldn't grow in size or intensity.

It wasn't that she'd never had crushes before or didn't know how to handle them. There had been plenty of these feelings in her life—or, rather, just enough of them to assure Joanne that she was not intended strictly for nun-hood. All of said crushes had been on girls, most of them her own age, and none of them had grown to a completely unbearable point. None of these girls, however, had been even remotely close to her on the friendship level, which made this, with Maureen, seem more dangerous. Not to mention…awkward.

_Yep, _Joanne thought as Maureen leaned her head against the shorter girl's for no apparent reason. _Awkward is most definitely the word._

To keep herself from overanalyzing the gesture (as she had become prone to doing), Joanne gently nudged her friend's shoulder with her own. "Where are we going?" she asked, ignoring the flash of misery that stemmed from Maureen finally retracting her arm.

"The library," she answered, as if it were the most normal thing in the world. Which, to Joanne, it was.

To Maureen, however…

"The _library_?" Joanne repeated, pausing mid-step and gaping after her roommate.

"Yep," Maureen replied nonchalantly, hooking her hands behind her neck and peering up at the ceiling as though it were a cloudless sky.

Joanne felt her right eye blink slightly of its own accord and clapped a hand over it, annoyed. This twitch had developed two weeks ago and only seemed to reveal itself when Maureen was around and referring, even vaguely, to the deal.

Like now.

"Maureen, you hate the library," Joanne pointed out, easing her hand away from her eye and resolving to see the school nurse about the issue as soon as she got a spare moment.

"I do not hate the _library_," Maureen replied. "I hate the _books. _There's a gaping chasm of difference there." She grinned when Joanne lifted an eyebrow. "You like that? Vocab word, right? See, I'm learning."

"Must be my sparkling influence," Joanne shot back, smiling when her roommate delivered a pinch to her shoulder.

"Yeah, I'll bet." Maureen skidded to a halt at the mouth of the land of books. "Bingo. Your sanctuary, my handy hiding place."

"Who are you hiding from this time?" Joanne had learned rather quickly that Maureen was always running from something. Teachers, incomplete assignments, sheer boredom—no one was better at bolting from it all than Maureen Johnson.

_Yet another reason why you shouldn't be pining after the straight girl. She can't sit still for two minutes._

Maureen was grinning again. Joanne rewound her memory, searching for the exact moment that would cause her friend to be so jumped-up toda—ah, yes, there it was. The double-decker ice cream sundae at lunch. Joanne vowed to keep Maureen away from the snack bar at all costs for the next few days.

"I'm not _hiding _from anyone," Maureen was saying, oblivious to Joanne's silent promise. "Well, today, anyway."

"Glad to hear it. I'm not in the mood for another session of 'Oh, Maureen? I think she went that-a-way.'" Joanne smirked.

"But that's our best game ever!" Poking Joanne gently in the nose—she had created a habit of doing that—Maureen took a breath to steel herself, then boldly pushed through the swinging door. Shaking her head—and shaking off the tingles—Joanne followed…

…and immediately found herself accosted by the head librarian.

A tall man with dark skin, warm features, and a knitted cap perpetually jammed onto his skull, Thomas Collins was one of the few males on staff. He was only about twenty-two, but his size made him seem both older and more petrifying to small senior girls like Joanne. She'd spent her first three trips to the library purposely avoiding him, until the man had cornered her in the Shakespeare section. There, he'd offered a wide grin, a firm handshake, and a jauntily-rattled-off spiel about historical literature. She'd weakly smiled back, nodded several times, and realized that this Tom Collins was shockingly-brilliant—and just a little too excited for a new friend.

In other words, he was a less-petrifying form of Maureen.

Actually, once his puppy-dog joy had worn off, Collins had turned out to be a relatively-laid-back individual. He had just graduated from the boys' college across the lake, and was using the librarian position for dual purposes: money, and a quiet place to work on his theories. His plan, he'd revealed to Joanne over a couple of Cokes and a joint (which she'd politely declined, her mother's voice rattling in her brain), was to become a world-renowned professor, whipping "couch-potato losers into intellectual shape whether they liked it or not!"

Joanne couldn't help but like the man. He didn't try to force thoughts on her, hadn't made a habit of interrupting her work, and—best of all—had never once tried to hit on her. When she had made a joke about this, he'd only winked and responded that his boyfriend would probably be a little pissed should he ever slip that way.

"Hey, little girl," he said cheerfully, catching Joanne by the elbow and steering her behind the check-out counter. "I got somethin' to show you."

"Oh, yeah?" Distracted, Joanne tried to peer around his large frame, searching for Maureen. It usually wasn't a good idea to let the other girl out of her sight for too long, especially when in an environment where Maureen could do some serious damage. Joanne shuddered as she imagined the brunette whipping out a lighter and cackling maniacally as she set fire to several of the older texts.

"Yep." Collins rummaged around under the counter for a minute, then straightened, producing a battered leather journal. "Here," he said happily, pushing it into her hands.

Flicking it open, Joanne found that the pages were dog-eared, water-marked, and occasionally a little torn—but mostly blank. She lifted an eyebrow.

"Invisible ink, Thomas? Kind of a schoolboy prank, isn't it?"

Throwing his head back, Collins chortled for a minute, then reached out a broad hand and tapped the book forcefully. "S'not a prank, Jo. I found it in an old box the other day. Thought of you."

"What box?" Curiosity peaking, Joanne flipped through the pages again, more slowly this time. Collins puffed out his chest a bit.

"One of mine. I think my ma got it for me when I was just settin' out for college. I probably used it twice, then got bored. But I figured, why waste good paper, right? You should give it a go. See if any of my old muses got trapped between the pages." Winking, he settled his weight against the counter and rolled up the sleeves of the thick flannel shirt he was wearing over about four other articles of clothing. Joanne smiled.

"I'll do that. Thanks, Tom."

"Anytime, little girl." Nodding towards the journal, he added, "Hey, do me a favor though. If you _do _happen upon some inspiration, could you send it my way when you're done with it? I'm a little stuck on my latest theory and it's driving me crazy. Even the greenery ain't helping."

"Will do." Twitching the book toward him in a sort of salute, Joanne walked back around the counter and eyeballed the area. "Now I've just got to find—"

"All righty, all set!"

Joanne clutched her chest as Maureen all but exploded out from behind the nearest shelf. The curly-haired girl grinned, shifting her bag on her shoulder.

"Did I scare you?"

"You _startled _me," Joanne replied, her voice almost a growl. Maureen's bright smile lit up further.

"I scared you. Right on." Turning to Collins, she gave the counter a tap. "Hey, how's the weed?"

He grinned back. "Still good, Johnson. Gimme a call if you want in."

"Of course." She pointed at him, then at her bag. "I found it. I'll be in later to chat about the situation, 'kay?"

He flicked two fingers in her direction, then turned toward the phone as it gave off an obnoxious ring. "Catch you ladies later," he said, waving to Joanne.

"'Bye," she replied distractedly as Maureen dragged her out of the library. Once their feet had touched hallway tile, she demanded, "What was that all about?"

"What was what all about?" Maureen replied innocently, her eyes huge. Joanne scowled.

"You just bolted into the library, disappeared, and came back eight minutes later with nothing but a triumphant expression," Joanne pointed out. "What the hell did I miss?"

"I just found what I was looking for, is all," Maureen answered with an almost-believable shrug.

"But what were you looking for?" Joanne pressed. Maureen, however, refused to comment. Instead, she set off at a relaxed pace down the hall, motioning for Joanne to hurry up.

Joanne sighed. So Maureen was going to play stubborn today. Swell. _Well, _she supposed grudgingly, _I'll probably find out sooner or later what she's up to. Maureen's not one for keeping secrets for long._

_ Besides, it's probably some part of her "deal". I'm sure it's no fun torturing me if I don't find out._


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: Still and always belonging to Jon.

A/N: CHRISTMAS! WOOOT! dons a Santa hat

…wadaya mean, it's May? Stop crushing my soul, will you?

Anywhoo, yes, chapter four. I actually started it off quickly and was rolling along at a positively tra-la-la pace. Then came the Chenzel ficage that I'm totally not admitting to reading because, hey, I don't ship reality-people. Really, I don't. whistles, kicks folder full of collages behind back Anyway, I got slightly distracted—_slightly, _I tell you!—and so this took a little longer than I'd originally intended. So sorry. I should be flogged. teasing grin And I could _so_ add something dirty to the end of that, but it would only prove that one of my dear perverted friends has indeed corrupted me on a level that means I must forever pay her nickels for every gutter-thought that ever crosses my mind—and I'm totally babbling. Wow. Sorry. On with the chap.

**Dec. 25th, Part I**

The first thing Joanne processed on Christmas morning was the darkness behind her eyelids. She wondered what the hell had caused her to wake at what was surely the most unholy of hours when she should so clearly still be unconscious and drooling into her pillow.

Then the second thing registered—in other words, the bouncing—and it clicked.

"Wake up, sleepyhead!"

Joanne moaned, rolling over as best she could with a way-too-exuberant bohemian straddling her midsection. "Mmph," she managed to say, though what she'd attempted was, "What the hell are you doing? Get the hell off of me, you sick freak, it's three in the fucking morning."

Ignoring the groan and all that it was supposed to convey, Maureen simply bounced again, jostling her roommate obnoxiously. Joanne wrestled with the frustrating wakefulness that was starting to overcome her mind, hoping she could push down the sensations that came with having Maureen riding her like a pony in her excitement and just go back to sleep.

The butterflies, coupled with a heated sensation in an unfortunate region, however, didn't seem to want to cooperate with that idea.

Sighing helplessly, Joanne opened her eyes. "Why do you hate me?" she asked, almost conversationally. Maureen beamed down at her.

"Honey, you're sleeping away Christmas! That just can't be allowed!" Another bounce, rocking her pelvis dangerously into Joanne's stomach. The smaller girl bit her lip and forced a grimace.

"Maureen, it's only—" She struggled with her left arm, trying to untangle it from under Maureen's leg enough to see her wristwatch. When this failed miserably, she continued anyway with an estimate: "Somewhere between two and six. This is the time when Santa's still making his rounds. Good little girls should be asleep."

Maureen pouted. "You're such a stiff, Joanne."

"And you, my dear, are certifiably insane." Rubbing her eyes with her free hand, Joanne sighed. "All right, since you're so big on deals, here's one for you: give me another half hour of sleep. Then, I promise, you can haul me right out of this bed and have your lunatic way with me. Okay?"

Maureen considered this for just enough time for Joanne to kick herself for reminding the brunette about the original deal—a concept that Maureen had, miraculously, not touched in a month. Then, offering a reluctant little nod, Maureen rolled off of Joanne and curled herself tightly against her roommate's body. Joanne sucked in a surprised breath.

"Maureen?"

"Hmm?"

"What are you doing?"

Maureen lifted her head from its resting place on Joanne's shoulder. "Come on, Jo. I know you well enough to know that, if I go back to my own bed, you'll be out like a light and I won't be able to get you up for hours. This way, I have some control over how far back into dreamland you slip."

_Yeah, you've got control. Maybe a little too much of it._

"Oh," Joanne replied in a slightly-strangled voice. Maureen smiled and huddled back into her, snaking an arm around her waist in a disconcertingly-possessive fashion. Joanne, for her part, forced herself to lie very still, fearing that this might be yet another sensory-encompassing dream. The dreams had taken it upon themselves to visit her almost nightly, growing more and more vivid as the weeks rolled by. They'd even attempted to hack through her guilt and tension to invade her waking thoughts, which worried her. Control was a good thing. Losing control was bad. Time with her parents had taught her this lesson well; time away from them had cemented the idea permanently.

Maureen, though, was chipping away at the permanence. Joanne wasn't sure if she liked that or wanted to sprint as fast and far away from the other girl because of it.

_Sleep_, she reminded her dangerously-wandering mind. _That's the deal. You get a precious thirty—well, twenty-eight, now—minutes. Don't waste them thinking._

Still moving about as much as a moss-covered boulder on a hilly plain, Joanne forced her eyes closed and tried to focus on anything but the warm body against her own. It took a few minutes, but she managed to reach the place where she wasn't thinking about the curls tickling her cheek. Or the hand that was tracing circles so absent on her hipbone that Joanne wasn't sure it was even an intentional motion on her roommate's part. Or the sensation of Maureen's cheek against her neck—

"Time's up!"

_Oh, shit. _Joanne gritted her teeth. No _way _had thirty minutes flown that quickly, but what would possibly come of telling Maureen that? It was surprising enough that the crazy girl had relinquished control to Joanne for even the amount of time it took to strike up the deal; she'd _never _give in further.

Besides, Joanne reflected with a sigh, she wasn't getting any shut-eye with Maureen in her bed. Might as well get up and face the reindeer.

"All right, you win," she grumbled, rolling to the edge of the bed and teetering there, precariously close to falling right off. "I'm up."

"You don't look it." Maureen had clambered over to her again, her head cocked as far as her neck would allow to peer at Joanne's dangerously-perched form. "Come _on_, Joanne, I want to give you your present!"

She bounced several more times, threatening to dislodge Joanne from the bed entirely. The smaller girl rolled back to look up at her in surprise.

"You got me a present?"

Not looking even remotely shy about the situation, Maureen nodded. Then, appearing to rethink the question, she mused, "Well, maybe not _got _so much as _made_…ah, you'll see. Come on, get your ass up before I get too impatient and just tear the paper open for you."

Baffled, Joanne allowed the too-energized young woman to grasp her by the arm and haul her from the mattress. "I-I didn't realize we were going to—," she stammered. Maureen made an impatient jerking gesture with her free hand.

"Oh, shut it. You're helping me pass Calc. That's enough of a gift for a year, trust me."

Joanne shook her head. "No, that's…I mean, I should've…I wasn't thinking about—"

"Joanne." Maureen had paused in rummaging through the trunk at the foot of her bed. Rising to her feet, she took her friend by the shoulders and gave her a hearty shake. "Listen to me, okay? Stop trying so fucking hard."

Joanne swallowed. "What?"

"Remember the deal we chatted about? The one where I was to drag you out of your frighteningly-compact little shell?"

"I remember," Joanne replied nervously. "I also remember you promising to read a novel a month. Don't suppose you've held up on that one."

To her surprise, Maureen gave a wicked grin and reached beneath her pillow, withdrawing a hard-backed copy of _1984_. She tossed it at Joanne, who reacted just in time to keep the cover from smacking her in the face.

Eyeing the book suspiciously, uncertain if it would explode or not—one could never be sure with Maureen—Joanne asked, "Are you kidding me?" Nowhere near the most brilliant of things she could have said, she realized, but it was three-thirty in the morning and Maureen had just told her she was actually _reading _in what little time she spent away from her roommate. _Excuse me if I'm a little perplexed by the whole thing._

Maureen shrugged coolly. "I've been reading it when you run off to the library. Gotta say, honey, I'm not sure Winston was cut out for the superhero biz. He seems a bit pathetic."

"He's not—that is, he's—dear God, you're _serious_." Joanne was perfectly aware that her mouth hung open. Maureen flashed another grin.

"What can I say? I like to keep my promises."

"But…why don't you read when I'm here?" Joanne slowly sat down on Maureen's bed, processing what this meant: _She's actually going to make me fun. Shit. She _didn't _forget._

_Not that I really thought she had, but a girl can hope…_

"Why would I want to ruin the surprise?" Maureen arched an eyebrow, turning back to her trunk and fumbling through it again. "You know how I love surprises—ah hah! Here we are."

She swiveled around again, grasping a thin, rectangular package between her hands. Her face couldn't have looked more excited if their roles had been reversed and the gift had been offered to her. Flopping down next to Joanne, she dropped the red-paper-wrapped present directly in her friend's lap.

"Open it," she commanded, when Joanne proceeded to only stare at the gift as if she'd never seen anything like it before. Snapping free of her reverie, Joanne obeyed, tentatively working her fingers through what felt like four layers of scotch tape. Peeling back the paper, she found herself facing the back of a frame.

"What is—," she began, turning it tentatively in her hands. Shockingly, an image of herself stared back at her. The sketch looked to have been done in a talented mix of pencil and charcoal; in it, Joanne's likeness looked mostly-serious, excepting the tiny smile that flickered in her eyes. Joanne, who had never been much for art, thought it was one of the most beautiful things she'd ever seen.

"You like it?" Maureen asked eagerly, leaning forward and resting a hand on Joanne's knee. Unable to speak, the smaller girl nodded, eyes glued to the picture. Maureen gave a squeal of joy and scooted closer.

"Great! I really hoped you would. It took me two weeks to get it perfect, honest to God, especially since I could only work when I knew you weren't looking."

Joanne gawked at her. "When I wasn't—Maureen, when exactly did you find time to do this without my noticing?"

"Mostly in English. Which reminds me: I'm going to need the past two weeks' worth of assignments from you, when you get a chance." Stretching out, Maureen laid her head in her roommate's lap and beamed up at her. "Merry Christmas, Jo."

Feeling just a little too-warm from the unexpected gesture and the closeness, Joanne could only whisper the words back. Maureen didn't seem to mind; she just snuggled in and closed her eyes. When she didn't move for several minutes, Joanne uncertainly touched her hair.

"Maureen?"

"Shh," the other girl mock-admonished. "I'm sleeping. It's four in the fucking morning, dontcha know?"


End file.
